


Summer's End

by Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe/pseuds/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe
Summary: Gellert was the embodiment of summer: sunlit hair, warm skin beneath Albus's hands, and a smile that made Albus feel hot down to his very bones. But all summers must come to an end.





	Summer's End

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: Summer's End**  
>  **Prompt:** #23  
>  **Pairing(s):** Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald  
>  **Warning(s):** Minor character death  
>  **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
>  **Notes:** Thanks to Qualinestron who cut out all the dashes  
>  **Summary:** Gellert was the embodiment of summer: sunlit hair, warm skin beneath Albus's hands, and a smile that made Albus feel hot down to his very bones. But all summers must come to an end. It made Albus feel important, the way Gellert looked at him. The way he touched him and slowly revealed his secrets.

Albus considered himself in the mirror of his suite. Of all the things Albus had set aside from his upbringing, immaculate dress was not one of them. Mother had always maintained that first impressions, much like Unforgivables, were irreversible. He wore a fine black dinner jacket, a perfectly fitted vest, a white dress shirt, and a red tie. His pants were slim and sharply pressed. Everything was bespoke from Coquelot’s _69 Boulevard des Galantes_ , fitted and altered with cleaning charms in every thread. His dark auburn hair had been styled as he liked it: short, parted on the left, and perfectly set with a spell that mirrored Muggle pomade. He finished with the musky citrus scent he preferred.

Elphias was amused by Albus’ fastidiousness, Aberforth disgusted by it. But Ariana, whose opinion was far more dear, called him _My Phoenix. You are scarlet, beautiful, and rather dangerous_. It was their joke. Spoken in their secret language of legilimency and gestures. To Albus she was _Pandora_ , the all-gifted, whose secrets were locked in the pithos of her body.

The book she’d given him, prior to setting off for the Coast, sat on the small desk of this suite. A much-loved first edition of the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , earmarked and fingerprinted. His long-held interest in the Peverell’s Tale only heightened when the Dumbledores moved to Godric’s Hollow after the “Incident.”

Certainly, someone strong enough to fool death was strong enough to fix Ariana.

“You are presentable, Albus,” he said to the mirror when it didn’t talk back, careful to lock his compartment before heading down to the dining car.

He caught another look at his reflection, using his shoulder to steady himself against the glass as the car moved. He had done Quidditch at Hogwarts, a fair beater, and was trim but broad across the shoulder. Too broad to be completely fashionable. And after a bludger to the face had found his nose slightly crooked. But he’d never had an issue in finding a partner, when so inclined.

Summering at Witch-Whitby was, outside of research and rest, a palate cleanser. Although Elphias had laughed him out of his flat in Belgravia when he’d told him. There had been a sticky situation with a girl in Prague...who had not been pleased when she found him in bed with her brother. Not to mention the Mayakarian ambassador at a conference at Bhangarh College.

So it was not a complete surprise when Albus noticed _him_ the moment he stepped into the dining car.

Loose blonde hair gone gold under the gaslight, a neat nose, and lips that were crafted for all the filthy things Albus could imagine. Rather too clearly. He would ruin the line of his pants if he lingered on it. “Table for one.” He glanced across the room and saw that it was very full. There were only two spaces free, none at a singlet.

The boy - perhaps just a man - looked up at him. His eyes were hooded, dark, and fringed with dark lashes. To say the look was predatory was, perhaps, understated. They held a moment or two longer than strictly polite and Albus thought, _Perhaps._

“We ‘aven’t any singlets, sir. ‘Owever, I can seat you with another guest. Per’aps Mrs....” The concierge looked at a seat across from an attractive woman in blue crepe and a matching velvet cloche. She watched Albus over the spoonful of soup she had brought to her mouth. He did not miss the movement of the chair across from her, sliding from under the table. When the Concierge turned back, he stilled for a moment as if catching his thoughts, “...ah, Mr. Grindelwald.”

Albus blinked at the sudden change. “That will be fine.” He was led to the two-seater directly across from the blond man.

He was not entirely handsome, not up close. But he blinded with his presence, radiating an arrogant sort of confidence that was rather… heady. The man stood as Albus joined him, a _bright young thing_ in an expensive suit, and extended a hand.

“Gellert Grindelwald,” he introduced himself, his accent distinctly Continental, possibly Austrian. “Please call me Gellert.”

“Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore.” They held hands a moment longer than strictly polite and Albus drew back first taking the seat across from Grindelwald just as the young man took his own. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.”

“Not at all.” Albus accepted the menu from the waiter, taking the opportunity to look away from the man across from him. “If I may, I recommend the guinea hen.”

“Do you make this trip often?”

“Enough to advise against the lobster.” Gellert’s mouth turned up at the corner, reminding Albus of his earlier impression of its uses.

“Noted.”

“Would you share the _pommes francaise_ as an appetizer?” Before Albus could respond, Gellert added, “I find the portion rather too large for one person.”

“Then it seems I must.”

When the waiter returned, Gellert took the opportunity to order for both of them. “The guinea hen, then?” Albus nodded. “And the Sauvignon. Fowl,” he said, turning back to Albus as if in explanation. Not particularly fond of wine, Albus found he didn’t mind the presumption. “So,” Gellert began, having passed over the menu, “you must tell me about yourself.”

“Must I?”

“Of course.” Complete assurance that Albus would comply. “I simply must know everything before Mrs. Rowle has it out of you.” Gellert’s eyes danced towards the woman in blue crepe, not turning his head. “A wicked gossip. I was cornered last night over brandy,” he shuddered. “While I narrowly avoided conspiring in her planned infidelities, I fear she’s got everything on me.”

“And that would be?” Albus couldn’t help but be amused at the guile behind Gellert’s overt annoyance at having admitted to being taken in by her.

Gellert smiled then, a real smile that caused Albus’ eyes to linger. And his companion knew it. “That I am the dissolute younger son of a Count. Of no settled profession.” He looked down with practiced coyness, raising his eyes against the frame of his lashes to add, “And an unrepentant sodomite.”

Albus choked and then tried to cover it, rather poorly, in a cough followed by a long draught of water. Gellert delivered the line with éclat, cutting through the usual cautious rites. Quite unlike himself, Albus had begun to feel like a mouse dangling between Gellert’s paws, wondering how long until the boy grew bored with him. He hoped long enough to have him. At least once. “Indeed.”

“What do you do?” Gellert asked, giving him a long look. “Financier. No.” He held out his right hand as if erasing the suggestion. “A greengrocer!” An older man in severe black wool frowned under his droopy moustache at Gellert’s exuberance.

“I fear I disappoint,” Albus said.. “I am a mere academic making my first trip to the Coast.”

“What do you study?”

“Fairy tales.” Albus reached for his wine, but Grindelwald put his hand over Albus’. It was warm and soft. 

“You have to let it sit. To bloom.”

“Once again, I defer to your expert judgment.” Albus slid his hand back to rest along the edge of the table.

It was a strange thing. Sitting across from the man, Albus found that Gellert’s regular features had shifted, arranging themselves into something rather extraordinary. His wand gave a start, not unpleasantly, against his right thigh, causing the fleece of his leg to stand on end. An unexpected burst of magic that he hoped to quiet with an unspoken _finite_.

“So, fairy tales?” Gellert’s voice had an expected derision to it, though tempered with amusement. His studies may have focused on advanced transfiguration - at which he excelled - but he had found there was knowledge to be had in Muggle folklore. Sitting across from a Muggle, Albus reached for his guises. As his current obsession with the Elder Wand included sifting through fairy tales, he could offer a fairly competent discourse on the subject. Certainly enough to bore to the point of changing a conversation.

“So you’ve read Lang’s _Fairy Books_?”

Something frantic crossed Gellert’s eyes - perhaps for his misstep? - but he recovered with, “I’ve not had the pleasure.”

The _pomme francois_ was set between them and Gellert used a small fork to bring one of the confections to his mouth. “There are various motifs which I find fascinating. But I shan’t bore you with the theory.” He helped himself to a spiced apple.

Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, Gellert asked, “What is your favorite motif?”

“Hrm… I am particularly fond of proscriptions on owning the magical, such as Tamlane. Though, perhaps, those punished for it aren’t.”

“I am unfamiliar with that tale. Tamlane.” It wasn’t quite what he wanted to say, Albus thought. But he answered it as if it was. He wondered if Gellert was another Excalibur romanticist. _Le morte d’artur_ had had a spectacular reprint and become a cause celebre. As the train was currently headed to Cornwall, it was not entirely beyond the pale.

“It is the tale, perhaps more a ballad, of a maiden who must hold fast to a mortal knight who is owned by the Queen of the Fae. In order to save him.”

“From the Fairy Court? Why would anyone want to leave the luxury of the Fairy Court?”

Albus laughed. “There is the small matter of a tithe to Hell. The mortal knight being said tithe.” He added absently, “And there is a child, of course.”

“Children are dreadful things.” Gellert said, adding conspiratorially, “I was a _dreadful_ child, myself. Running after magic things.” Gellert waited while their entrees were set on the white linen. “You are very interesting. And perhaps rather romantic.”

Albus caught himself laughing again, and he felt his cheeks heat. “I fear I am not terribly romantic. I assure you that as a child I was the one posted at the tree-line, warning others away from the fairy fort. The tale - _Tamlane_ \- is one that my sister adores. I believe she finds the idea of holding onto a tiger more brave than foolhardy.” Had she not suffered, she would have been a Gryffindor for certain.

“There is a tiger involved?”

“Yes. Shape-shifting is a prerequisite to fairy tales.”

“And stealing things. This knight being in possession of the Queen. Do you think, then, that one should be punished for stealing magic?”

Albus watched Gellert for some clue of where this was going. “Do you?”

“Of course. It is still a theft, is it not?”

They finished their dinner between snippets of questions and answers about Albus’ study and ordered demitasse as a finisher. Gellert pulled out a gold cigarette case. “I’m going to step outside for a smoke first.” His shoulder rose to motion towards the door that led out to a small covered platform. Albus glanced at all the people smoking inside the car but Gellert still stood up. “I find it very declasse to smoke where one eats. Will you join me?”

Wild Abraxans couldn’t have stopped him. “That would be lovely.” Enroute, Albus asked the waiter to hold the demitasse and pudding until their return.

It was warm, but not unpleasant on the platform, cottagers and fields falling behind them. “I’ve only Muggle cigarettes,” Gellert said around a practiced moue of disappointment. Albus started, grabbing at the railing. “Don’t be so shocked, Albus.” Gellert said his name like a wicked promise. “You fairly crackle with magic. You’re handsome, of course.” He fluttered his hand. “Particularly incongruous as a redhead. But even the Muggles can feel it. I’m surprised no one’s propositioned you yet. Besides myself, of course.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Albus asked, dropping a wall around his thoughts which had heretofore been completely open to another wizard. In the chance that Gellert was skilled in legilimency.

“Oh yes,” Grindelwald took a deep suck of the cigarette in his mouth before handing it to Albus. “I’m going to have you. Or you me. Even if you close your mind to me. It’s inevitable, of course.”

“Is it?” Albus took the cigarette, more amused than put off.

“I’ve an Ottoman augurey,” Grindelwald said. He didn’t bother with his own cigarette, and instead reached for Albus’. Albus offered it freely. “They’re dreadful uncloaked. But I’m going to change your world, Albus Dumbledore.” He handed it back and Albus took another draw. “Will you read to me tonight?” He stepped closer and Albus did not move away. “I find I sleep dreadfully on trains.”

“Just reading, then?”

“Whatever it takes to exhaust me.” Grindelwald stepped close enough that his right thigh touched Albus’ left. He came to Albus’ eyes and was very slender. He smelled of lavender, which complimented Albus’ citrus. “Are you going to kiss me, Albus?”

Albus flicked the cigarette off the train and used his right hand to pull Grindelwald’s upturned face to his own. “Well, if it’s inevitable.” When he opened to the man, he realized he had been quite blind to Grindelwald’s own nature. His charisma was magic. As easy as breathing. And it was highly erotic. Their kiss was not gentle and Grindelwald’s mouth begged to be plundered. Albus tasted the wine on the boy’s tongue. When the jostle of the train brought them closer, Grindelwald’s sharp hip came in contact with the interest that was currently ruining the line of his pants.

Albus pulled back, laughing as Grindelwald’s mouth chased his. “Unrepentant sodomite, eh?”

Grindelwald’s dark eyes opened. “I had to test whether my advances would be reciprocated before I was resigned to the use of a love potion.”

Albus’ right eyebrow arched. “Your moral compass is rather ambiguous.”

“But you don’t mind,” Grindelwald said with saucy conviction. “We’re the same in that respect.”

Albus smiled down at the blond, his right hand still in the short-hairs at the nape of Gellert’s neck. He let it slide down to the shoulder. “I believe our demitasse is waiting.” Grindelwald scowled. “We can have afters in my compartment.” Albus turned and re-entered the car with a sharp grace and the judicious use of a _notice-me-not_ on his flies.

The eyes that Gellert made at him over coffee were dark and so intense that Albus marvelled that no one else noticed. They set his body alight with anticipation. Albus was far more circumspect, by necessity and nature, and maintained a light, sensible facade. He did not put much stock in divination, least of all the habits of the animal kingdom. But he found Gellert delightful, if somewhat spoilt. He would have to give this bird a treat should he have the pleasure of visiting his cabin.

“I’ll take my leave, then.” Albus said, setting his napkin on the table. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” When he stood, he could feel the weight of eyes on him. “You should stroll down the left aisle of the Thames car. I found the view to be particularly efficacious.”

“I shall.”

Being in proximity to the blond had resonated with him, deeply. Enough that his wand: acacia, thestral core, 11” hummed with it. As it had when he’d sat down. He had never felt the like before.

Upon reaching his room, Albus marked his door with a sigil only wizards would see, and quickly divested himself of jacket, vest, and tie. He washed his face in the basin and then spelled his hair free from pomade. It had a natural wave to it that he often found distressing in social situations. But rather liked while at home.

A knock followed about a half hour later. Albus tousled his hair a bit before opening the door.

To Mrs. Rowle of the blue crepe.

After a moment of surprise, “May I assist you, madame?”

“I wondered if you had something to open this.” She produced a dark green bottle of port.

“I believe I may have something to assist. Just a moment.” He made to close the door behind him, but she took the opportunity to step inside.

“It is exactly like mine,” she commented as he walked towards the small drinks caddy. “Except that your bed,” and Merlin, she had sat on it straight away, “Runs along my closet.”

“I suppose they all share a floorplan,” Albus said, politely, while desperately trying to find a corkscrew amongst the mysterious instruments of the caddy. If he could not uncork a bottle of wine with his magic, he was a poor wizard indeed.

“Yes. Except that your room is rather warm,” she said. He heard a rustle of fabric but refused to turn around.

“Yes, perhaps you should return to a more hospitable climate,” he turned and pushed the entire box of Muggle gadgets at her. She had, in fact, undone the buttons of her bodice. Objectively, he noted that she was very good-looking in a classic, well-cared for way. Uncorseted with high breasts and a long neck. But he had been hoping for a long _male_ neck. Port still in hand, she clutched the box to her chest almost in self defense. “I hope you will find what you need. But I must ask you to leave.”

“Leave?” She sounded astounded. “But we haven’t even started!”

“I believe we _are_ finished, madame.” As delicately as possible, he managed her off his bed and towards the door.

“But… why did you invite me to your room?”

“I—”

“You very clearly did so. And you even marked the compartment!” He stared at her in surprise. “I would have got you, too, if someone hadn’t _confunded_ the maitre’d.” There was another knock on the door and Albus went for the handle while the woman cried, “Don’t you dare!”

His intended guest stood just outside the door, with a bottle of something in his hand. Gellert was still impeccably dressed, but now also wore the wickedest of smiles as he set eyes on Albus and Mrs. Rowle. “Have I interrupted something?”

“I—no! Mrs. Rowle was just leaving.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” she grumbled, not even bothering with her open bodice. “ _Confunder_.” She hissed as she walked past. And then with the most pleasant of facades, she turned towards Albus. “I’m just next door. Should the current company disappoint.”

When the door was closed and Albus’ back against it, they fell into laughter. “Merlin’s beard, I am sorry about that.”

“Why?” Gellert asked, dropping his own bottle in the water basin. He had by some magic, in the moments between Mrs. Rowle’s leaving and Albus looking at him, removed his jacket, vest, tie, and belt. Albus forgot why he _should_ be sorry and pulled the waif into a bruising kiss. Gellert opened instantly, mouth going soft and welcoming. His tongue curled around Albus’, leading him inside against the mint of his teeth, the pleat of his palate.

He could feel the magic around him crackling like static electricity, stoked and licked by Gellert’s. He had _never_ experienced anything like this before. “Do you _feel_ that?” He asked, pulling away.

“Of course I do,” Gellert responded in a self-satisfied whisper. “You’re the most powerful wizard I’ve ever felt. Outside of myself, _of course_.” Albus imagined the eye-roll he couldn’t see, as Gellert slowly unwrapped him, his mouth tasting skin for every button undone. “You had…best...” Gellert said between buttons, “Do something… about… the door… before you… come…”

“You’re rather confident,” Albus cast the spells nonetheless while Gellert pulled him by his waist, using his wand to unfasten belt and flies.

He arched a brow before pulling Albus’ cock into his mouth. He sucked and pulled sounds from Albus’ throat as though snipped from the words he wanted to say. _Yes_ and _Please_ and _Oh Merlin_ all dissolved to utter nonsense. Albus’ fingers threaded through the gold of Gellert’s hair while the boy pressed his head into his hand until he was well and truly pinned. He drew backoff Albus’ cock, stringing threads of pre-cum and saliva, and said, “ _Move me_.”

Albus did so cautiously at first, delicate with the reins Gellert had given him. But the blond pressed his own hand on Albus’ and showed him how he wanted it. Within moments, he pulled Gellert’s mouth _hard_ into his pubic bone. Albus kept his eyes firmly on Gellert’s face, looking for any sign of discomfort, and _felt_ the smile against his spit-slicked cock. He came then. A long, hard thing that caused his hips to thrust forward into Gellert’s mouth. The moment Gellert detached, Albus fell to his knees. “Are you alright?”

In answer, Gellert kissed him furiously, pumping his own cock before pulling back to paint Albus’ best trousers. His eyelids had gone half-mast, his nose flaring with a sharp exhale, and the gorgeous mouth fell open in release. Albus chased it, following Gellert onto the carpet of the cabin. He caught himself at the last moment, carrying his weight on his forearms and then rolling onto his back. Beside him, Gellert was slender and pale, his hooded cock glued to his thigh. And thoroughly disordered. It suited him very much. Albus brought himself up by his calves and found the flannel he had used to wash his face and dampened it in the wash basin.

“Here,” he said, carefully undoing his laces before peeling down socks and trousers and pants. Albus spread his limbs and then cleaned him. Then he announced, “There’s a wine bottle in my wash basin.”

“Oh, yes.” Gellert was slightly breathless, stretching his arms over his head. It had the effect of lengthening his narrow torso. “As you wouldn’t know better, I brought something middling to pass as exceptional. _Obviously_ unaware that your other paramour had your best interest in mind.” While Gellert teased him, Albus was distracted by the soft, fair down of Gellert’s pubic hair. And the hint of pink beneath it.

“I can’t believe she undid her bodice.”

“You can touch me.” He opened his legs further in welcome. Albus hesitated, finding Gellert’s casual sexuality overwhelming. In response, Gellert took the flannel from his hand and threw it against the wall. He then reached between his legs and used his fore and middle fingers to give Albus a clear view of his intimate parts.

It had been months since Albus had had a lover, a sharp faced Ethiopian wizard who had caught his attention over coffee at his hostel. Gellert was milk white, the blush of his furled opening sweet and small.

“Are you going to fuck me or just look?”

Albus called up his innate magic - he rarely needed a wand unless channelling something strong - and released it to flow down his forearm and to his fingers. Wetting them before brushing against the opening. A light, teasing flicker that caused Gellert to arch upwards, into it. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of taking the boy apart.

Bending Gellert up at the torso, Albus parted the flesh of his arse before tonguing the herb of the conjured slick, the musk that was Gellert. “ _By Merlin_ …” he wrested from the boy, laving and pressing until he breached the aperture. Around him, Gellert’s thighs tensed while he gasped overhead, pushing down and against Albus’ mouth.

With just his mouth, he brought Gellert to the edge of orgasm. And then pulled back. “ _Bint.”_ A moment before Gellert hissed, Albus took him.

Albus was certain he was going to die on the floor, suffocated by Gellert’s heat. The blond blanketed him in invectives and pressed closer. And the strangest, most wonderful, sensation sparked between them, ran like lightning through his body where it broke and multiplied against Gellert, whose eyes had turned impossibly blue. Gellert, furiously stroking himself, so lovely that Albus couldn’t last.

When he came, the carafe of water on the washstand shattered. The bottle of wine responded in kind as Gellert joined him, showering them in red wine. Gellert clutched him then, his body grasping and reaching. Needing reassurance his facade denied, but as Albus would learn was quintessentially Gellert. A child that had never been loved. Albus wondered what Gellert needed from him. What he would ask of him. If he could give it.

After a moment, Gellert simply said, “I’m a mess,” and raised one hand to summon the flannel from where it had stuck to the wall. But his hand still clutched to Albus’ hip.

“You’re not particularly good for my possessions,” Albus quipped, carefully vanishing the shards of the wine bottle and repairing the water carafe.

“But I am _very_ good at sex.”

“I think that was something of a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Gellert’s smile was radiant. And calculating. “I imagine that the entire car is privy to our intimacy. Due to the lack of silencing charms.”

Gellert must have cancelled his careful castings, then. Should he be irritated? He didn’t quite _understand_ Gellert or his motivations. Not yet. That he didn’t mind in the slightest was not yet worrying. Not with Gellert splayed out beneath him, stroking the muscles of his thigh. “I’m afraid the wine’s a lost cause.”

“Call for coffee,” Gellert commanded from the floor. “And put me to bed.”

“Aren’t you going back to yours?”

The uncertainty was there only a moment before Gellert said, “Of course not, Albus. I’ve only third class and you’ve a compartment.” Gellert summoned his gold cigarette case and lit one. “How far are you going?”

“Whitby. I’ve let a house there for the Summer.” Albus cast a hasty cleaning charm on himself - and Gellert, who shivered under it - before finding his clothes. “You should come with me. If your destination is not pressing.”

“I can have an owl sent ahead. To make my apologies for having been waylaid.”

Albus felt pleased. _Very_ pleased, in fact. He gave Gellert his dressing robe and called for coffee. “What is this?” Gellert asked, taking up the _Tales_. “It’s sort of like German, but not exactly.”

“It’s a copy of Beedle’s Tales. An early edition.”

“Does it differ from the more modern version?” Gellert crawled into Albus’ berth and tucked himself against the wall.

“Only minutely. Meaning differs by translation. The 1830 translation was a fair bit more prurient than others I’ve seen. The translator obviously had his prejudices and preferences.”

“What is your favorite?” The book had fallen open to _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_. Ariana’s favorite. Albus felt himself soften in fondness, the effect obvious on his face.

“That’s Ariana… my sister’s… favorite. I could tell it by heart.”

“Will you read it to me?” Albus had set the coffee to hover just in Gellert’s reach while he put on his Muggle pajamas.

“Of course.” He pulled the chair alongside the bed and began without looking, “It is said that _high on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the Fountain of Fair Fortune_...”

They fell asleep tangled in each other, hardly room enough for the two of them. Waking only once for Albus to peel away Gellert’s robe and move inside him. Delicately, softly, until Gellert cried out into his pillow.

“My favorite was always the _Tale of the Three Brothers_ ,” Albus whispered into Gellert’s ear while he lay curled into his arms. “I’ve always wanted to find the Elder wand.”

“Then we shall.” Gellert said into his throat. “How hard can it be for two clever boys?”

*

They took breakfast late, as Gellert’s change of class had necessitated transfigured clothing and a languid hand washing that had turned into lazy fellating. Albus secured a table - under the acid gaze of Mrs. Rowle in severe tweed - while Gellert telegraphed to the nearest owlery.

“I will never understand them,” Gellert began some time later, joining Albus in the observation car. It was raining outside, but bright enough to watch the passing scenery. “Muggles,” he qualified. They had spent the afternoon under a web of something Gellert cast that kept their conversation just quiet enough to be unable to be made out.

“What is there to make out?” Albus asked, left leg over right, his trousers sitting perfectly.

“Can you imagine living the life unexamined? Being no more than cattle.”

“But surely there is some relief in that? Happiness is a given without the confusion of options.” Albus’ thoughts on Muggles were complicated. While Albus was not as vehement in his disgust as his brother, Aberforth, he did not trust them.

“I imagine you’ve been told what to do your entire life.”

Albus wanted to say no, but said nothing. He had always been the good son. The good student. The obvious choice for a prestigious Transfiguration residency. He supposed he had never had to make a difficult decision in his life.

“I hate them.” Gellert continued, as though passing judgement on a disappointing wine. “Cruel, prejudiced gaolers. Were that we could be free to be what we were born to be.”

Albus thought about the boys at Mould-on-the-Wold. How Father had found Ariana amongst the bushes by the trail of blood. _Albus, take your sister home_ , he had said. The static of his magic building and furious. Albus had been ten. Percival had always been a kind figure and the change in him could only be, to Albus, warranted. He had never seen his mother cry before. _What shall we do?_

Muggles could be monsters in their fear of the unknown.

“Would it be wrong to have always done what one was told?”

Gellert’s gaze softened. “No. Not if you choose me.”

“To hear Mrs. Rowle tell it, I have.”

They laughed, and Gellert put a hand on his knee as he rose, passing it off as a casual gesture. “Come to bed, Albus.”

*

They exited at Whitby. Albus with his trunk and Gellert with a bird under a black cloth. “If I don’t keep it under the cloth, it will howl all the time. It’s dreadful. But it was a gift.”

Witch-Whitby was entered through the Mermaid Tavern. Albus was able to floo them to the house he’d let for the Summer. It was comfortable and filled with the salty-clean scent of the ocean. They christened the thread worn carpet of the house’s library with their bodies.

There was no need to take up more than one room, although Gellert had a tendency to splay himself all over Albus. Trying to physically consume him. Albus found it endearing, if a bit hot.

When they were not going through Albus’ extensive library or accepting book deliveries, Gellert caught a full-fledged case of a Hallows addiction from Albus’s passing childhood fancy. They smoked and swam in the sea. Albus was a strong swimmer, he always had been, and Gellert was lazier. Although he enjoyed watching Albus emerge from the sea in his clinging wool suit. Gellert was the embodiment of summer: sunlit hair, warm skin beneath Albus's hands, and a smile that made Albus feel hot down to his very bones. It made Albus feel important, the way Gellert looked at him. The way he touched him and slowly revealed his secrets.

“I was expelled from Durmstrang,” Gellert said one day as they lay on the rug Albus had carried out so Gellert wouldn’t get sand in his hair. Gellert’s hand on his cock made the admission less startling than it should have been.

“Why?”

“I was too clever.” Gellert squinted against the sun. “I like to experiment; I want to test the boundaries of magic further. To see what is possible. I believe I frightened my professors when I showed an interest in other, perhaps darker, forms of magic. They told my Father that I had a penchant for the _Böse Magie_.” Gellert borrowed other languages when he ventured into things where he was testing Albus’ reaction.

“I suspect that all the best wizards study _everything_. Magic is not inherently good or evil.” Albus looked at Gellert’s face under his own shadow. “It’s the intent.” He knew that Gellert’s wand was strung with rougarou hair, an American wand that had been sealed in mayhew. It would be easy with dark magic, unlike Albus’ own.

“Exactly, Albus.” Gellert released his wand from the holster at his right thigh and traced Albus’ leg to his abdomen. “I want to make love to you.”

“Shall we go in?”

“No…” Gellert sliced through the swimsuit with his wand, allowing the weight of the wet material to pull it to his sides. He brought his mouth very close to Albus’ ear and promised, “I’m going to ride you here. Where anyone could find us. So you know that you belong to me.” He vanished his own suit - probably to the house, intact - and then straddled Albus’ hips. His cock was slender and hooked proudly against his abdomen. And, _Merlin_ , his long fingers had gone from a few quick strokes at it to working himself loose enough for Albus to fit.

Sometimes, Albus forgot to breathe around him. Watching the blond finger himself while his teeth had caught his bottom lip. In the weeks he had known Gellert, he knew he enjoyed a frisson of pain with his sex. He had barely prepared when he shifted Albus’ cock at his entrance and sank down. The lean muscles in Gellert’s legs lifting and falling, Albus answered in kind. Pushing when Gellert fell, following when he lifted. Eventually, they were mindlessly grinding against each other with Gellert’s hands tight in Albus’ hair, spinning towards release.

When it came, Albus choked out his unravelling tension, Gellert mindlessly humping his pelvis in sharp pulses until he fell forward.

He thought he might be in love.

Albus had gone through his books at night, while Gellert dozed, waiting to tangle all over him. The quiver in his wand had brought to mind the stories of Agrippa. In the _Collected Stories of the Seven Kingdoms_ was the tale of the _anmchara_ or _periglour_. A soul friend or mate.

He found the passage: _And they shall knoweth them by the trembleth of their cores_. _There will be a mark upon them_. Albus had noticed it on his left knee. A knot with trailing ends. Gellert’s was beneath the crease of his arse.

He was certain that Gellert was his soul mate. His other half. Their wands knew it. Their bodies knew it. Of course they’d found each other. Just as they’d find the Elder wand.

*

“The Blacks have invited us to their soiree,” Albus said when he found Gellert in the garden pouring over a letter he’d had that morning. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace.”

“Will there be dancing?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Lovely.”

“And champagne and music and...” Albus summoned the invitation, hovering by live fairies tied to the card with ribands. “... _Rehkeule_. And _Hammel-Cotelettes en chaud-froid_. Obviously someone has made an impression on the Misses Black.”

Gellert narrowed his eyes. “I think Mrs. Black wants to collect you.”

“Well, that is quite impossible. Violetta would never be so gauche.”

“She did employ the stratagem of having you wheel out her swimming box, Albus.”

“And a _temperamental_ young man with not insignificant wits knew enough not to enter it.” Albus dropped a kiss on Gellert’s golden hair. It was not the first time that Gellert had shown himself to be jealous of anything that distracted Albus from him. To assure him, Albus was more outwardly affectionate than he was strictly comfortable with. But he reaped the reward in spades.

Violetta was in her pearls and semi-guise gown, carefully crafted to give _just_ enough of a peek when she greeted them, “Ah, the lovely boys who’ve taken Ashwinder House.” They did the pretty with the Misses Black, Cassiopeia and Dorea, before finding the promised champagne. Gellert nipped Albus’s ear with his teeth as they walked out into the fairy-lit garden.

“If I had my druthers, I would take you on their table.”

“If I _let_ you,” Albus amended. “I don’t imagine it’s good _ton_ to shock our hosts.”

“Would you really say no to me?” There was a cunning in Gellert’s eyes, confidence in his mien.

Albus said nothing, sipping at his champagne and listening to Gellert comment on the other guests. He was sometimes cutting, but the hand at Albus’ waist, beneath his jacket, softened it. Would he say no to Gellert? He’d had a letter from Elphias outlining the minutiae of the plans for their Fall travels to the Continent. On a whim, he’d asked Gellert to come with them, unwilling to spoil the perfect Summer that reached out before them by the spectre of parting. It would be a hollow discovery to find mention of the wand without Gellert beside him.

“Where are you, Albus?” Gellert asked, turning Albus’s head towards him and lightly kissing his mouth. “You’ve closed your mind to me again.”

“I am right here.” Albus smiled, not realizing he had done so, and pulled Gellert into his arms. “Perhaps just a bit tired.”

“Then dance with me.”

*

Albus woke the following morning to an express owl scratching at the bedpost, carrying a parchment edged in black. Black for death. He took the letter and resigned himself to the pecking he received for not having any owl treats at hand.

He walked to the window and read:

_Albus. Mother has died. You must come home immediately. —A._

In an addendum that only a Dumbledore could read: _Ariana had another spell and Mother was caught in the burst. I’ve been able to stave off the Ministry_ so far _. Make all haste._

Mother was gone. Aberforth - and, _Merlin’s beard_ , Ariana - no doubt in distress. He would have to Floo. The family wards would not allow him to apparate. He waved an untidy packing charm at his things, collecting it all in his spelled trunk for immediate travel. The racket was horrendous, but it was a careless flying hair brush that woke Gellert.

“Albus, what the fuck?” He held the sheet to his naked lap, alarmed. “Are we leaving?”

“I must go. Immediately. My sister—” His voice choked as the words he meant to say sank into his own mind. “My mother has died.”

Heedless of the falling sheet, Gellert caught him up in his arms. His grip stronger than it appeared. “My poor Albus. I can be ready in a moment.” Gellert turned to reach for his wand. And Albus knew he could not let him come with him. There were things, secrets, that only the Dumbledores kept.

Of murders and lies and little girls who harbored shadows.

“No.” The word came out firm, startling Gellert. “You cannot come with me.”

“I’m sorry?” Albus, distraught, did not notice the tone. The disbelief of someone who had been denied nothing hearing their first no. “Of course I’m coming with you.”

“I need…” Albus faltered.

“You need me.” Gellert’s hands bunched in the fabric of his untucked shirt. “Let me get you a calming draught. I can be ready in a moment, really.” Gellert’s hand felt warm where it migrated to Albus’ chest. “Don’t leave without me.”

Albus caught Gellert’s hand before he could move away. Probably for the calming draught he _did_ need. “Gellert. I need to be with my family right now.” Had he ever seen a person unwind before? Gellert, unwound, was a work of heartbreaking loveliness. Albus put his hand against the fair stubble of Gellert’s cheek. “But I would never leave you. I…” he faltered, not entirely sure if there was a word for it.

Gellert brought his own hand over Albus’s. “I do, too.”

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

*

The only non-Dumbledore in attendance at Kendra Dumbledore’s funeral was their immediate neighbor, Bathilda Bagshot. She brought clippings of the never-dying asphodel she had cultivated. They planted it over the grave.

There was talk in the Village. No wonder, they way Aberforth ran wild and Ariana kept hidden away.

“I won’t go back to Hogwarts,” Aberforth said, tight and wary, the only one who could get Ariana to eat.

“That’s ridiculous, Aberforth. Of course you’re going back to Hogwarts.”

“But someone has to stay with Ariana. Are _you_ going to do it?” Albus had always been Kendra’s favorite, Aberforth unable to match his brother’s lustre.

“We’ll think of something. _I’ll_ think of something.”

But all he did think about, in the small hours of the night, was Gellert. It was three weeks since he’d left him at Witch-Whitby, and they’d written almost every day. Gellert’s letters full of miserable hyperbole and Albus’ heavily edited. It was only a month till their Continental tour and Albus ached for it. The freedom of the coast and Gellert’s skin under his hand.

With Ariana under a sleeping draught, Albus took the opportunity to meet Elphias at the Cockspur in Diagon. They had been’ close friends. But Elphias only knew parts, the gilded flashes, of Albus.

“Your mother was a fine woman.”

“That she was.” They discussed international portkeys and Elphias having secured an invitation appointment to the library holding Loxias’s archives. Albus having trailed the wand there. Elphias had no idea why Albus wanted the appointment, but had been more than happy to ask his Uncle who worked with the Ministry in International Floo Affairs. “I cannot thank you enough, Elphias.”

The Hufflepuff waved it off. “But you can tell me about this Grindelwald fellow. It all seems so…” he struggled for a word and then hit upon “... _romantic_. Meeting such an interesting fellow on the train to Witch-Whitby.” Elphias laughed as Albus tensed his shoulders. “Albus, I’m happy for you. If anyone deserves something, it’s you.”

*

When Albus returned home, Aberforth was in a right strop. “Where have you _been_? Ariana’s become unmanageable and someone’s come for you. I put him in the library.”

“You let him in?”

“He had a suitcase and your owl. And,” Aberforth scowled, “He sort of pushed his way into the house.”

Albus, who had not bothered to style his hair, ran a hand through it. “Have the elf draw a bath for her. I’ll be right up.” He looked at the door to the library, Aberforth nodding.

Any ideas of quickly ousting the stranger fell to the wayside when he opened the door and saw the slim, blond figure in a tweed travelling suit. Gellert turned as Albus walked into the library and they moved towards each other into a furious embrace. “You promised me,” Gellert said into his shoulder.

“I know, I know,” he said against Gellert’s hair. Gellert tipped his head back, and Albus saw the watery blue of his eyes before they consumed each other’s mouths. He felt _right_. There in the library at Godric’s Hollow, smelling of lavender and sweat.

“Albus!” Aberforth’s voice called through the spelled ducts, magically amplified and anxious.

Albus peeled back. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here, okay?”

He took the stairs three at a time and found Ariana trembling in her wet chemise, black mist streaming from her eyes and mouth. Aberforth held the blanket they used to swaddle her, staying at arm’s length so he wasn’t consumed by her damaged magic. “Merlin.”

“She’s been getting worse. Since…”

“ _Ariana_ ,” Albus said forcefully. “ _Ariana_.” He could feel Aberforth tense beside him. When she did turn towards him, her pupils had swallowed her corneas whole. He had never seen her so completely gone over. He felt fear, of course, but tamped it down with the instinct of many hours of practiced occlumency.

 _It burns, Albus_.

“I know, love. I know. But you have to focus on me. Focus on _me_ now.”

_Abbie is so scared, Albus._

“He’s afraid for you. Not of you.” Albus mentally cursed Aberforth and his careless studies. Ariana was particularly keyed to emotions and absorbed them like a sponge. He daren’t pull out his wand. It was standard procedure to leave it behind when seeing to Ariana. Because her damaged magic used them to pull at her brother’s. At her mother’s. Kendra Dumbledore’s wand had been found on the floor where she had fallen. Alone. After years of caring for Ariana without help, while both her sons left her for school.

Albus had said nothing to Aberforth of his suspicions of how their mother had truly died under that burden.

Albus let his own magic flow down to his fingers, rippling over the short-hairs of his arm. He slowly began to construct the strongest _protego_ he could, wrapping and weaving strands until Ariana was bound in a cocoon of light. All the while Aberforth spoke to her softly, reassuringly. “It’s alright, bunny. No one’s going to hurt you. It’s going to be alright.”

Eventually, there came the release. Ariana’s broken magic giving under her will and her knees gave out under her. Aberforth rushed forward with the blanket while Albus evaporated the shield with a firm _finite_. Worn, slightly shaken, he let his shoulders relax. Turning, he saw Gellert in the hall: white and still and clutching his wand.

*

The air was thick and hot where Albus and Gellert stood in the garden of the cottage. Gellert flicked open his golden case for his second cigarette. “So, your sister is an Obscurial.” Around them the low hum of the _muffliato_ Gellert had taught him.

From where he stood, Albus could feel the weight of Aberforth’s eyes from the third floor. _He_ cannot _stay here_ , he had yelled. _No one can know_. “Yes. She was attacked by Muggles as a child, which impaired the development of her magic.”

“And you don’t hate them?” Gellert asked, watching Albus’ face. “Those monsters.”

“I do,” Albus said, earnestly. “I hate the boys who attacked her.”

“They’re all like that, Albus.” Streamers of smoke curled out of Gellert’s mouth and nose. Albus thought that if Aberforth could hear him then, all enmity would fall by the wayside. “It’s not like I haven’t lived amongst them. My Grandmother was a Squib, and they hanged her as a witch for her skill in childbirth. There is a reason for the divide. If things stay as they are we die, little by little, until there is nothing left of us but the death of magic.”

The words sang to the injured parts in Albus. The part that was still ten-years-old and carrying Ariana back to the house. The part that had helped plant an asphodel over his mother’s grave. That had seen Percival hauled to Azkaban. Again, Gellert took his silence as assent. Perhaps it was.

“Come up to bed with me, Albus.”

*

So long as Albus had lived in Godric’s Hollow, the attic had always been his.

He peeled back Gellert’s travelling robes and just looked at him. A golden waif on the down ticking of his mattress. Instead of his usual impatience, Gellert said nothing. He opened his legs, the proud jut of his cock against his narrow hips, the fine blonde hair that began at the darker skin of his perineum. He was lovely and incalculably precious to Albus. That the universe had somehow created this person made it both miraculous and beyond understanding.

Albus took infinite care with him, buried between his limbs until Gellert sobbed into the pillow, thrusting up on his knees and palms. “ _Albus, please_ …” But that was what he was doing. Pleasing Gellert. When he had plucked at the ruche of Gellert’s opening until it would welcome anything, he filled him. Gellert had already come twice, the sheets twisted and damp and smelling of them. Albus thrust until he came, too. Quietly and explosively. When he’d caught his breath, still inside his gasping lover, he cast the spell he had learned. He was hard again at once, sitting on his heels to watch Gellert open again, tight and slick.

“There’s no one else for me,” Albus said, falling over the long body, whispering this secret into Gellert’s ear. “There is only you.” They lay pocketed in charms and glamours, brilliantly blue.

When he was able to, Gellert reached one hand against it. Testing. It did not break, instead painting his skin in color and heat. “I could feel you through time.”

“You don’t need to,” Albus said against the dampness of his hair. “I’m right here.”

*

Of course, as was the way of these things, it could not last.

*

Elphias took to Gellert on sight. Gellert had returned the sentiment until he said, “You know, Albus, we can always delay the Continent.”

Aberforth was speaking to neither of them, furious and without agency in the situation. But Albus reasoned that Aberforth would appreciate it once he returned to Hogwarts in the Fall. And somehow, Albus and Gellert would manage Ariana’s spells on the trip. Her delight at seeing the starlings in Rome would be worth it.

How, exactly, they would explain her presence or actually _control_ her was something his mind slid over. Again and again, with increasing hopelessness. But surely Gellert, of no settled profession, would stay with him. Until they found a way to care for Ariana. He’d already secured the loan of several obscure tomes via international owl on the merit of his reputation alone. He could surely arrange for more to keep Gellert occupied.

“Of course we’re going,” Gellert said, setting his cup down with a bit more force than strictly necessary. “Why wouldn’t we, Albus?”

“There are things to settle,” Albus snapped, surprising himself as much as Gellert with his irritated tone. He _knew_ that Albus could not explain himself fully. Not in Diagon. Not in front of Elphias. This was not the first time Gellert had caught him like this. Between a troll and a dragon. Although never with this particular gambit. “But I’m certain everything will work out.”

“Of course,” Elphias agreed, amiably. He shifted the conversation to lighter things, either unaware of the tension between Albus and Gellert or canny enough to steer them towards calmer waters.

*

After disentangling himself from beneath Gellert’s warm limbs, Albus apparated to the edge of Vortigern's Pool - a tidal pool protected from the Channel by a thick wall of Devonian sandstone, heavy wards, and an ancient colony of Melusine merfolk. Albus had been one of the few permitted to enter since he had first found it. He had not yet introduced it to Gellert.

He stripped and dove into the water: cold and bottle green. Seaweed rippled against his feet as he crawled across the pool, bringing warmth to his bloodless extremities. Above him the moon was a sliver in the dark sky, the foil to his mind.

It was unfair. In ways that Albus had never felt in the entirety of his life. He had always imagined - if he’d thought about it at all - that his Mother, the indomitable Kendra Dumbledore, would always be there. Ariana’s warden. He had never expected to be in charge of her care. And that of Aberforth. He felt hard put by. He had _plans_. He had a life and Gellert and a year on the Continent to find the Elder wand. He would one day sit on the Wizengamot and push the envelope of magic beyond anyone else. With the Elder wand he would be the most powerful Wizard in the world.

From his earliest youth, he had been assured this was his destiny. His reason for being.

He floated on the thin scrim of algae the Merfolk harvested. He did not like arguing with Gellert. They had gone to bed on Albus’ concessions - vague, careful - promised with their bodies and Albus’ steamer trunk piled with folded dress shirts and toiletries. But he felt _pulled_ , tugged by two irreconcilable forces. Gellert had been right all those months ago. He had never had to make a decision in his life that was not scripted by another person.

“You smell like salt,” Gellert mumbled later into Albus’ neck when he returned.

 _I’m so sorry_ , he thought with his mouth against Gellert’s fair hair. _I’m so sorry_.

*

Deciding to stay had been the hardest decision of his life. _His_ decision. Gellert had said nothing, merely stood with his back to the clouded foe-glass and tapped his finger against his thigh. Albus had spent two weeks working himself into tangles of stress and sickness about it. But Gellert had simply traced the stubble of Albus’ firm jaw, saying, “ _As you say, Albus, it will all work out in the end_.” And that was the end of it.

So when Albus came downstairs the first of September, in a dark plaid overcoat and a perfectly pressed shirt, he was rather surprised to find his trunk near the door. Beside Gellert’s leather portmanteau.

Albus could hear the creaking upstairs as Aberforth collected his things. They had already arranged that he would go to Hogwarts with the Evermondes down the lane, and Albus would stay with Ariana. It was the only way he could convince Aberforth to go.

Gellert came in from outside, pocketing his gold cigarette case and offering Albus an unrepentant smile. “Good morning, Albus.”

“Albus…” Aberforth clumped down the stairs and saw the pale young man by the door. “Why is your trunk by the door?” The venom in his voice bore no question.

“I—”

Aberforth hurled his own trunk at Albus. “You _liar_!” It only missed taking his head off by the tight flick of Gellert’s deflection spell. Aberforth hurtled down after it, coming at Albus with his fists. In self-defense, Albus caught him by the wrists, grateful that he was still small enough to hold at bay. Aberforth sagged in his grip.

Gellert had yet to resheath his wand. “I took the liberty of putting your things together,” he said, eyes flashing. “I knew you could never live with yourself if you turned away from your fate, Albus. To burrow in the country and deny your destiny.” A pause. “ _Our_ destiny.” With expert precision, Gellert had pulled every doubt from his head and answered them. “I’m saving you from yourself.”

“I told you I cannot go.” His voice was less assured than it had been two weeks before.

“But you will.” Gellert was so _sure_. Confident and beautiful and so very dear.

“He _won’t_ ,” Aberforth growled over Albus’ shoulder. “Tell him, Albus.”

“You _must_.” Again the tug of two irreconcilable forces.

Aberforth drew himself up with breath and fury, and said, “ _Tell him, Albus._ You promised.” His hands trembled as they released Aberforth’s wrists.

Albus had no idea who grabbed their wand first. Gellert ducked to avoid a furious blast from Aberforth’s wand. The silk paper sizzled behind him and plasterwork powdered the hall. From the floor, Gellert snapped his wand at the advancing Aberforth and his brother fell convulsing on the carpet.

“What are you doing?” Albus cried. He pulled his own wand and cast a warning stunner over Gellert’s shoulder just as Ariana came down the stairs. A frail, white figure trailing dark hair and the cloak Albus had given her.

“I am _saving you_ ,” Gellert said, keeping his wand trained on Aberforth. “From mediocrity. From servitude. From making the biggest mistake of your life.”

Ariana’s body tensed at the magic - the emotions - that crackled throughout the room. Neither Albus nor Gellert noticed, fixed as they were on each other. Aberforth lay still from Gellert’s spell.

It ended as most things did. Not with a bang, per se, but on a whimper. Ariana’s as she turned from a girl into a monster. An amorphous cloud of ichor and mist and pain that oozed from her body, thick and electric and darkening the hall.

Albus could not hold her close. And so she paid this tithe to hell.

*

At the beginning, there was a light touch on the pulse point of his wrist. But it was gone quickly.

Albus lay where he fell for a long time. Aberforth held Ariana’s limp body in his lap as he said, “You killed her. You killed her and I will never forgive you.”

The only thing of Gellert’s that lingered was the scent of his cologne.

*

The mark of a soul mate never fades.

It remains as a living thing, a pull, a rend in one’s being that is a pain beyond pain. The first few years were the worst. The feeling of sorrow and regret and the jumble of _feelings_. Huge and tangled and real.

It sat with him as he slept. As he ate. As he sat in a staff room in a plum colored suit considering an orphan. As he told a young boy with a lightning bolt on his forehead that scars could be handy. That he would never change it.

And that was true. He would never change it.

One of the twelve uses of dragon blood narrows the connection. Not completely, but enough. Enough to sleep and eat and talk to lost boys who are destined to die. Another allows the extraction of memories. Letting him watch and remember the sunlight on gold hair, feel the warmth of lean flanks. The smell of salt water and lavender.

He does this until the memories become faded and stretched, the barest shadow of time and place.


End file.
